Relentless
by princessares
Summary: [ShikaTem, KakaIru & others later. Implied multiple rape] The Kazekage has more than three children? Set before the Chuunin exams, will the encounter with Sachiko leave an impact on Gaara? R&R please!
1. Prologue: Enter Sachiko

**Relentless**

Prologue: Enter Sachiko

Disclaimer: 'Naruto' in its entirety does not belong to me. Sachiko however is my creation :-D

Warning for 'Enter Sachiko': Implied rape

Sachiko dodged the hand about to slap her but not the kick from the other side. The movements amplified the pain pumping through her nerves, slowing her every move, making her vulnerable to the next attack. Dark hair tangled further as ruthless hands dug deep within the thick mass, jerking her head sharply backwards. A short flaccid dick was shoved hard into her mouth, which was kept open forcibly by strong fingers immobilising her lower jaw.

A long time ago, she had been taught to remain pliant and to detach her mind from what was being done to her – what was done to elicit the groans without care to whether it was borne of pain or pleasure. A short time before that, she had taken a chance to run away clothed as she was…

Her lungs felt as though it were burning up, consuming her from the inside – but she ran on, gulping down the damp air, grateful for the feel of soft grass and soil under her soles. If she were anymore innocent, any less pressed for precious time, she might have paused her frantic search for her next turn to relish the welcome sensations of freedom. As it was, her pursuers were right behind her, pushing her adrenaline levels sky-high with each half-hearted grab at her streaming hair. They were toying with her, already savouring her punishment, arrogantly sure of their abilities to capture her. Every now and then they would fall back, giving her hope – only to crush it in the next moment when more joined in behind, from the path she'd just passed.

_Gasping for air, her chubby fingers clutched at the side of a building, using her forward momentum to propel her faster around the bend, dashing ahead, desperate to reach the fence. It had to be here. She'd memorised and re-memorised the exact layout of her escape route from that breezeless room._

_There! She charged forward, eagerly reaching for the ornately twisted metal that formed the gates._

_'Just a few more steps!'_

_But she never felt the cool metal. Instead, it was the cold air that rushed up to cool her heated skin, her faithless clothing abandoning her with multiple 'tsiiikkt's as hands first bruised her and then tore away the delicate fabric. A small shivering frame struggled still against the restraints, crying as she attempted to dart away from the groping hands, frustrated when she was held in place, her view of the black fence unobstructed, as was the moon glowing in all its pearly white iridescence and the stars twinkling with glee. Pain raked her from within, spreading through her nerves, connecting and sparking where rough tongue and teeth inflicted more pain. Tears flowed as she inhaled the earthy smells around her. The fire in her lungs raged on, but this time, she felt nothing as she struggled valiantly for breath, needing to breathe and shout for air, for something… Anything to get away from all this._

_Her small fingers clenched the grass, loosening the soil, a useless attempt as she was raised up again and then slammed down, her mouth repeatedly stuffed with a similar organ. Her nose remained pinched tight to keep her mouth open. This one liked the choking sounds she made when her body lacked the necessary air to survive. She couldn't see anymore, her eyes screwed tightly shut so she wouldn't see the perverse expression when he came. She would have covered her ears from the hoarse shouts too. If her short arms hadn't been pulled up and back to awkwardly stroke yet another._

_She could no longer see the gates. The ones she'd previously compared to the Pearly Gates – her doorway to heaven. She had no concept of what heaven was, but her readings seemed to indicate that it was good. At the very least, it was different from what she was living… The keen awareness of pain and torment was familiar enough to her for her to associate it to Hell/Purgatory. The books she read indicated that Heaven/Paradise was the completely unlike it in a good way._

_Long moments later, she had been left in a crumbling heap, while the men wiped themselves off on her torn garment before dragging her by her now matted hair towards her cell. Slowly, the mocking sky and gates literally became distant to match how she felt they had been throughout this time._

Years later, she'd considered those Hellish gates to be like those that remained closed to the souls behind it. One-way through only. At least, it was to people like her. They weren't the guards or visitors that passed through like ghosts through solid matter. She would always laugh at that. It was a kind of mental torture. They were given books that dealt with the fantastical hope of sincerity, which of course included 'true everlasting love', 'eternally true friendship' or the most ludicrous type: 'unconditional parental protection'. It was a sadistic attempt at mental torment. She had been prey to it for a while… But bit by bit it was broken down. At the grand age of nine, she had abruptly grown out of it and had begun to take the other genre of books more seriously.

Non-fiction after all made that much more sense. Everything was logical and could be predicted with a large probability of it coming true. For example, if you hit someone, you could expect retaliation with greater force. It could be traced to how people needed to be in control and dominate to fulfil their selfish desires. Just like what was being done now.

Her mind cleared for a moment and coolly noted that it was over. Mechanically, she waited for her cue to get up and begin cleaning herself from the filth. Habitually, her mind wandered again. Back when she had been young, she'd devoured stories about princesses being rescued from monsters/dangerous plights/loathful situations by princes in shining armour, or about adventurers who would travel about and right wrongs. The plots varied here and there, occasionally a western outlaw in the wild West; a brave from the Native Americas, wanted archers in a forest somewhere… All fighting to save the innocent and victimised. But they all belonged to an imaginary realm which she would never travel to again.

Slowly, as the last one stumbled out the door, she rose up, limping her slow way to the other door in the room, the pain already beginning to subside. Then, all thoughts were pushed away as exhaustion crowded her mind. Sighing, she eased into the warm water and systematically began to futilely cleanse herself of the impurities. It was all she could do, right now, to be physically clean at least.


	2. Chapter 1: Enter Gaara

**Relentless**

Chapter 1: Enter Gaara

_Disclaimer: 'Naruto' in its entirety does not belong to me. Sachiko however is my creation :-D_

_Warning for 'Enter Gaara': Nothing  
I'm finally getting used to typing longer prose… :-D_

Instinct told her the scent of soil and minerals would never reach her again. She was destined to live out her life as a warm sex dummy. To contain and consume semen. Reared and kept alive to pleasure the sweaty, lusty men in need of sexual release. She often serviced three or four at a time, with many watching. A large army was often in need of such release, she was once instructed. She never knew where they came from, only that the orange light from the sky would signal both the start and stop of such sessions. She once questioned, after finishing a tale of the history of the wars of some ancient civilisation, what the value of human lives were, to be so easily tossed away. She pursued that familiar train of thought again, probing it with her mind, wondering darkly why she had to pleasure and release the tension these men obviously carried with them. Was she actually helping them cope with whatever it was only to have them toss away their lives? Was that even to have been her function? Was that her purpose in life? Was there another purpose? Was it possible to have another purpose? What would happen when she stopped? Would she cease to be? Who would do it? Was she the one who had to end her own life?

She frowned, grappling with it, not comprehending her thoughts, feeling weighed down by a sensation she had felt for many years before. Only now… It was intensified, stronger. She had thought this way before. But it was more intense this time. She'd never had the time to think so much previously. It wasn't that the men weren't turning up as frequently.

In the past year since her re-capture, she had become gradually aware of the darker, less optimistic nature of her thoughts. The ability to separate her mind from her physical body had come at a price. Aside from causing her disposition to become more subdued and vastly more controlled, it also gave her more time to think upon the questions that would flash into her head. Somewhere inside her, she knew that her age and nature of her thoughts were incongruent, but she didn't see the logic in deluding herself.

She splashed the cooling water over the rest of her body, as if it would help cleanse away the thoughts that clung to her, before rising and changing, determining to get out for some clear air. Her current mood dictated that she do so before her thoughts stagnated to the niggling conclusion of self-murder.

"Oomff!" In her headlong rush, she hadn't been careful or lucky enough to avoid the one man she had instinctively knew was responsible for her plight, in more ways than one. Narrowing her eyes, she glared icily, undermining the respectful tone as she quietly greeted him. Years had taught her how to toe the line with this man.

"Otou-san."

"The guards?"

A smirk. "They need more training for their stamina, otou-san. Barely two times and they had to sleep. Are they new?" She goaded

"Go back."

"I need some fresh air. You may accompany me if you require some reassurance that I will not escape." 'Though I see no point. I will never get past that gate. No-one escapes the devil and his Hell'

She had done this before, going for walks, although it usually took quite an effort to seduce the guards to allow her the brief moments of mock freedom. It was more that they loved her humiliation and promised sexual treats than they were worried about her attempting to escape. The Kazekage had made sure that her childhood had instilled that within her.

She hadn't actually planned for this walk per say… But she did prefer to keep the guards as quiet as possible so they wouldn't disturb her after each night. Having them conk out after fornification was usually the most efficient method.

"No. I've better things to do. Go back." If Sachiko thought hard enough, she would almost imagine some derision or condescendence in his tone. Something to show that he cared enough about her to feel. As always though… There was only a voice without inflection or heat.

Nodding stiffly, she acknowledged his words, displaying respect she never felt before heading back into the room to obtain the brush and paper she suddenly wanted to have with her.

Gaara rounded the quiet bend, having just returned from his nightly vigil on the rooftops. Nightly, he tormented himself with the anguish of never having really been loved by Yashamaru; nightly he reassured himself of his existence, in some form or other. No one after all really cared about the rats that the Sunagakure no longer had scuttling about, so whether they died or not didn't really affect them. Then again, if they found out that he was the reason why, they just might decide that it was of great importance to them. It didn't matter to him though. He'd just have more practice using his chakra.

He frowned, joggled to the physical present by the atypically thick mist ensconcing him. His senses were faltering, confused momentarily by the fog. Right, left or straight ahead? He was used to walking the path without paying attention, trusting his sand to protect him when he needed it to so he was free to let his guard down as he walked. Walking straight on felt right.

Kuso! He'd been walking about for a good twenty minutes now and the fog seemed to be thicker around here. Sand seemed to be stuck hovering in the air, wrapped in the dense water droplets suspended in mid-air. He knew that fog wasn't all that strange to have in Sunagakure, especially with the extreme fluctuations in temperature, but still… He furrowed his brows, slowly working out why the mist would be denser here than elsewhere. Come to think of it, why was there grass beneath his feet? He was in a desert!

His fingers flexed, summoning the sand that was ever present in the Hidden Village of Sand. His little silicon minions answered his call, assuring him that he was in the right village. Suspicious, he immediately performed the genjutsu dispelling seal with a deadpanned "Kai!"

Instantly, the sight-hindering mist vanished, leaving him near a dilapidated shack three stories high with walls badly in need of repainting, having long fallen prey to the weather and sand. It looked lonely standing on its own, no other establishment near enough to Two men lay on the ground on futons, enjoying a pleasant fantasy, hands travelling slowly over their own bodies, rubbing here or scratching there.

Gaara looked on with mild disgust scrawled over his features, side-stepping around them and pushing the door – only to meet with resistance. Stepping back, he moulded the sand to his will again and created a shield around him before preparing to crush the door. Nothing would get in his way.

Sachiko placed her hand on the doorknob, twisting it, scowling darkly… It had taken her longer than usual to gather her materials. Someone had thought it funny to scatter and leave them in places she would never have left them in. She hated it when they did that. It no longer bothered her that they touched her belongings so much as annoyed her to have to play hide-and-seek with inanimate objects. Their immaturity really astounded her. She really didn't see any real reason why they enjoyed making her life as hellish as possible. Didn't she comply with all their needs? Greedy selfish –

"Krrpllaaacckktt-shkkkt!!!" was the only protest the wood-and-paper door made as it gave way to the merciless sand…


	3. Chapter 2: And Then They Met

**Relentless**

Chapter 2: And then they met

_Disclaimer: 'Naruto' in its entirety does not belong to me. Sachiko however is my creation :-D_

_Warning for 'And then they met': Sexual references  
Thanks to Malitia for the encouraging review! This chapter's dedicated to you :-D  
By the way, this is set before the Chuunin Exams…_

"Krrpllaaacckktt-shkkkt!!!…"

The sound echoed through the sparsely decorated room, coinciding with the unabashed creak of the door currently held open by Sachiko. She tensed, turning around slowly and walked each dreaded step towards the sound of the noise she'd heard. Although it was common practice for her to be used only when darkness afforded protection, there were times when she was… needed in the day.

"Ohayo…" She greets, face inclined downwards, gaze fixed on the floor, training overriding instinct. Her fingers remain still, one hand over the other as she performs a genteel bow and holding the position, awaiting an instruction, making no move to adjust her clothes, despite knowing it wasn't slutty enough. It never was. She was too stupid to know how to please them better, too dumb to know their preferences by now, too slow to clean them up before they wanted more, too uncoordinated to touch them properly while stroking another, too foolish to silence her pain when they rather she cried their name, too –

"What are you holding?" a solemn voice questioned.

Her head would have jerked up, if she hadn't remembered the lessons beaten into her: Submissiveness and demureness was expected from her at all times. Still… What was going on? Wasn't it obvious that it was a brush and some paper? Suddenly, she felt sick in her stomach… Not one of… Those again…! The 'special demands' were the trickiest to get right and more often than not, the reason why she would not be able to handle the usual 'visitors' for several nights. It was simply too easy to deviate from the determined plot of the fantasy set by these ones.

"B-br-brushes a-a-a-and pai-paint a-and s-s-some p-pap-per, sir," she stuttered, biting her lip and then trying again, with no luck in curbing her nervousness.

Was it? Gaara wouldn't know. All they had use of him for was a weapon, something with perfect defenses and immeasurable power when attacking. A weapon could never be employed in another industry other than war. It was deemed superfluous for a weapon to learn to appreciate and create some of the finer things in life. Hence, a weapon like Gaara was never taught or given the time to once learn to fully utilise the brush.

"How is it used?" Was it like a needle? She must have been going out to practice. Her genjutsu must have been to disorientate. It doesn't matter. I have seen through it. Now she will help me prove my existence once again.

Trembling now, unfamiliar with the disturbing aura of something quite different from sexual tension, Sachiko barely managed an answer with shaky lips. Shimatta! What was wrong with her? Wha-What was this strange feeling? It makes me feel… Like dying… Kowai!… Her body tensed, fighting her mind's will to stay put and accepting of any punishment that would befall.

He read her movements effortlessly. "You are a coward. For that, you will cease to exist."

Sand swirled around his feet, spiralling towards his palm and starting a slow but sure path around her. There was no need to rush at this point. It was more fun watching the horror creep in, he thought. Rarely did he get to watch the various stages. He typically had to finish his job as soon as possible since his opponents were eager to get rid of him, necessitating him having to kill them quickly instead of wasting his chakra and defending himself all the time.

Stunned. Her hazel eyes widened, shock-numbed brain unable to comprehend the new chain of events unfolding before her… Who was this? They never sounded so grave, so… hungry for her blood to be spilt… Previously, no one was serious when they said they wanted her life. It was all part of the act. Performed with knives, scissors, sharp pointy objects… Ropes, pillows, hands, other devices used to for strangulation…

Confusion. But not once was it done with sand. Who was this? Why? How?

Processing. Was this magic? The wind, maybe? No, not the wind – there was no breeze. Maybe this was a dream? One of those really realistic ones. Wake up! Wake up now! Chikuso! Why won't I wake up? When did I fall asleep? Kuso…! Why do I bleed, even in my dreams? Why does it still hurt so much? Maybe if I scream…

Futile action.

"Waa-AAAHHHH! WAKE UP! YAAAAHHHH!!!"

No change. Perhaps it will work better if I just finished this dream. Psh. Even my own mind is against me. There really isn't any hope to be had in the world.

"I haven't yet done anything. Killing such a coward will be a waste. But Mother has not - "

"Y-you use it to wr-write a-a-and dr-drrr-draw, sir," poor Sachiko stammered out, desperately trying to postpone her dreaming up a gruesome death for herself, flustered and very much out of her depth in the situation. "To express yourself… Art?" She offered, hoping to define her use of the simple art materials for this curious stranger. Maybe it would kill his desire for the bizarre 'foreplay' and start his fantasy scenario proper? He was an odd one… The odd ones, she knew were the ones that could spare her the night's activities for a while if they overused her. The odd ones would always push her beyond her limits, causing her to crave death. That sweet oblivion she'd begun to think of as her only salvation. She'd come close before, and had known it to be pleasant, a maelstrom of wild dreams, turbulent but safe.

Muscles above his right eye twitched then contracted towards its twin. Gaara had never been interrupted before as he spoke and he quickly found out that he didn't like it. Even if she had finally found her voice to work still.

"Show me." Came the command in a deadened tone.

Caught up in her slow musings of death and a creeping wonder of whether he would really have killed her, the command never reached her ears, never converted to electric pulses in her brain, and so was not performed at the moment. Instead, she mused aloud, posing a half-question to him: "Would you have? Killed me? Did you mean it? If I asked you to do it, would you have?"

There was a strange excitement in her voice despite the grimness of the request. An odder light still that shone despite the glazed state of her eyes. Yes, instinct was telling Gaara that she wanted something he had to offer. He knew people often wanted something of him. He often helped them because he could prove himself worthy of existing then. Yet, people ran from him when he did his job; people ran from him when he tried to help them; people ran from him when he wanted to do more than was necessary. Those were the typical reactions people had when faced with Gaara. What people facing imminent death did not do was stand there to ask for it before he had begun Subaku Sousou, much less Subaku Kyuu.

"It wouldn't have mattered. I would have killed you anyway."

"Oh…" That deflated her a little – even to a stranger, what she wanted didn't factor into consideration, but it didn't matter. She had nothing to live for. So long as she died, what did anything matter? "How would you like me to position myself? I don't want to trouble you or the funeral arrangement company." _Not that they would really care… After all, they did say that they would just burn me with this old house when I died._

This really threw Gaara off – no one had really concerned themselves to convenience him before. His entire life had been difficult – to find acceptance, to survive, to realise that his reason to live was different from others…

_Why is he surprised? --- Why doesn't he have eyebrows? --- Was he serious or was it part of his sick fantasy? I don't understand… Maybe it's his first time?… He doesn't seem to really know how to start this… I don't understand… Where is the man who should be introducing him to me if this is his first time? He's so young… But his eyes… So different from the rest._

"Yamero!" _Enough of this._ "Show me how to wield the brush." Even if she was an assassin, she would teach him something useful before he killed her.

"Onegai shimasu!" _I beg of you… Please…_ "Onegai yameru inochi!!!" _Please terminate my life… Please… _"You were going to, weren't you? With the sand? Why don't you want to kill me now? Did I do something wrongly? Yurushite kudasai!" _Forgive me!_ What am I doing wrong?

"Show me!"

Sand shot forward, wound around her left wrist and tightened its hold. Sachiko yelped as she was dragged like a ragdoll to rest at the feet of Gaara. "Show me here." He stepped away to lounge against the wall.

A very audible gulp was heard, before Sachiko nodded slowly and began to spread out her art materials on the floor. Taking a deep breath to clear her thoughts, she paused for a moment, focusing her energy to perform the task at hand. Then, slowly, she began to create an image fixated in her mind, often glancing back to her hand where skin was broken and reddened flesh contrasted with milky white. Increasingly, the strokes of the brush on the paper became more sure, deft teasing caresses of a lover turning to knowing touches, bent on creating that one tremulous effect on the onlooker.

Caught up in her own little world, she didn't notice Gaara leaning down from the wall to get a closer look. It was rough, an amateurish effort, good for her age, but with much yet to be learnt. The basic idea was there – a hand losing its strength as less of its sustenance reached it, escaping through a cut that extended around the wrist – but the muscle definition was not quite there, nor was much of the other realistic details coming through, as they should be.

She frowned and sighed, realising how she had failed at this again, before moving on to write an accompanying poem, her muse taking over for the moment.

Something to take me away

from all the

Dreams...

Seemingly possible before.

So clearly not

Now.

Failures...

Previously impossible

Apparently not

Without end.

It captured how she felt about her artwork and her life. She was caught in a place where she could never escape, or be saved to taste the freedom she'd dreamt of as a child; a place where she would live on, where she could not die even if she tried.

Carefully, she proceeded to place her signature on the paper.

"Sachiko."

"You can read!" She blurted out, startled out of her artistic stupor. She was mortified by her carelessness. She knew she couldn't deal with any degrading words about her self-expression right now. Most times her work went without praise or critique - only rarely had she ever had a half-baked mature comment.

She got angrier with each passing moment, feeling peculiarly cheated in some way. As though she had been led on to think that this stranger was illiterate. She'd thought he was atypical - direct, not crude, maybe, just maybe interested in finding out more about art as well…

"Why didn't you tell me you could read?" A terse question.

"I never said I couldn't." A brusque reply.

"But you - !!!… Oh. Oh… - Ohh… I'm sorry sir…" Came the timid apology, her body already tensing up in fear for retaliation for her insolence. Chikuso! What was it about this boy that made her forget the proper way to behave? Why did she have to burst out like that? Shimatta! What to do, what to do?

TBC

A/N: I don't know the Japanese language well, (being primarily an English speaker) so please forgive any grammatical errors when I attempt to insert Japanese in my story. I'll be using Japanese in the sections that have more raw emotion to it – as when the characters are under duress or when they convey more feeling, to give it the feeling

There is one thing I would like to clear up now though – in Japanese, do the names come before or after what is said? I mean, in English, the emphasis when you say 'I like you, Gaara' is different from when you say 'Gaara, I like you' So does it apply to Japanese as well?

Also, if any of you out there reading 'my baby' and don't like some aspect of my writing/plot, please tell me! I really want to make this work! 


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